


pillow on the go

by Queenjoker



Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-08 11:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11645490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenjoker/pseuds/Queenjoker
Summary: He doesn’t even know the guy but Call all but turned him into his own personal pillow on the bus. The worst thing is, the guy never says anything about it all. Not a single complaint. No,‘Sorry, but my shoulder is hurting’, no‘sorry, but I really like this coat, can you not drool on it?’, and definitely no‘Dude, you’ve got to stop, this is kind of weird.’He never calls it weird.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my drafts for AGES.  
> unbeta'd so I apologize ahead for any mistakes - v-)/
> 
> Fic art by [joker-ace](http://joker-ace.tumblr.com/post/158933857714/cassandraclare-hollyblack-pls-let-these-boys)

 

 

Call swears as he barely makes it in time to catch the bus.

The driver glances at him, silently beckoning Call to show him his card or he’s out of here. So what if Call just struggled running those blocks to catch the bus, right? He flicks his ID at him after catching his breath, only to groan inwardly. At the sight of all the people in there, he knew he wasn’t going to be lucky enough to have a section of seats all to himself.

He hears someone cough behind him, maybe a swear, and he hurries to find a free seat.

There’s a brief panic of choosing between sitting awkwardly in the middle of two heavy set guys, with bags full of their sports equipment, or next to an older lady barely holding onto her heap of groceries and momentarily trying to calculate which one would be a better arrangement for his leg. He doesn't have to do it for long, though, when he sees one boy move his backpack to his lap, freeing a window seat.

He hesitates, thinking maybe the boy meant to do that for someone else to sit on it, but after glancing around and seeing no one else besides the disgruntled man behind him, he takes it, giving a “thanks” to the blonde boy before settling down. 

 

Call doesn't know how long he’s been out for when he jerks himself awake.

“This your stop?” The voice comes from beside him, making him jump. And then blush because oh god, he can feel a dry trail of drool. He fell asleep on the shoulder of a stranger and _drooled_. A+ impression as always from yours truly. His look of horror must’ve been a sight as the other boy laughed.

“Dude. Its ok. We’re all tired,” says the boy that Call is now dubbing as literally the nicest kid that has ever spoken to him. “But, really we might want to go now. I think the driver might leave any minute now.”

He barely has time to register the ‘we’ in the boy’s words as the boy stands up and walks to get off the bus, with Call in tow. He’s expecting an awkward silence between them after but all the other boy does is wave him good bye and wishes him a good night. Call mutters out a _thanks_ and _sorry_ before the other starts to walk the opposite way.

 

It's only from then on does he start to realize how often the other boy rides that bus too.

He catches himself staring at the boy the day after, an empty seat next to him. Call’s not one to be hopeful about anything that comes his way so he awkwardly sits on the seat behind the guy, trying not to make eye-contact. By then someone else takes the seat next to the boy and Call instantly regrets not taking the free seat.

_Stop it. You can’t be jealous over a stranger,_ he chastises himself.

It’s not like Call’s never paid attention to his fellow bus riders before (they’re _ok_ ) but like most people trying to catch their 9 am class, he just didn’t have the energy to retain anything past the ride itself. Half the time they’re all collectively looking soullessly towards the front or down on their phones, so really, he’s not to be blamed for not remembering much from his rides.

Except.

Except he’s there throughout the entire day.

He’s there later in the morning, when Call’s got class across campus and he’s pushing his luck with his attendance like always when it comes to Professor Rufus’ Geology class (why his dad, Alistair, thought learning about the meticulous formation of rocks throughout history was a good extra class is beyond Call). Call sees him in a different spot listening to his phone and looking like everyone else that’s on the bus. So he makes a point to not stare at him because 1) he’s probably forgotten the incident from yesterday already and 2) there’s no need to make it more awkward for either one of them.

And 3) definitely no need to remind him about a stranger that fell asleep on his shoulder and drooled.

He’s there again by the front when it’s rush time for dinner and Call’s dead tired, munching on some gummy worms he found in the depths of his messenger bag, just barely registering the blonde boy that glances at him.

By night time, Call calls it quits on his weird one-sided avoidance and takes the free seat he sees next to the guy, and stares out at the window.

 

He falls asleep again.

To be fair, he should have seen this coming when he tried to stay up until 3 am working on homework due on the same day.

One second he’s staring at the street signs, thinking which homework he’ll coincidentally forget again he has tonight in order to sneak some more play time with his 3DS and good ol’ Pokémon, and the next thing he knows he’s being shaken awake with a familiar voice calling to him.

“Whuah?” he says articulately, the shining example of his B- from English 102 last semester. Professor Milagros would have been proud.

“Our stop,” is all the voice says, with a hint of a smile in it and Call immediately remembers that he had dubbed it as belonging to _the nicest person ever_ and he should totally listen to him.

He’s still in a daze by the time he’s off the bus, waving goodbye to the blonde boy once again.

  

It’s a hit and miss kind of thing, Call notices, since their bus is almost always full and Call is almost always late getting into the bus. So of course the other boy can’t save a seat for him every time—or at least that’s what Call tells himself when he grudgingly sits two rows back next to an art major carrying massive sketch pads and a ruler that was poking at his head.

Even so, by night time, there always seems to be a conveniently empty seat besides the boy and Call doesn’t ever want to question it if its gets him a chance to rest.

   

The third time he falls asleep on him, Call _has_ to apologize for real.

He’s insistent about it.

His father may have let him grow up to be sort of a smart-ass, but that didn’t mean he didn’t raise him without some manners.

He almost makes them both miss their stop completely because he’s still trying to get words out but the boy is trying to shoo him towards the door and practically pushes him off. Call is still mouthing “I’m sorry” and wincing to the boy by the time he turns around the corner.

 

The fourth time, he’s mad and disappointed at nobody but himself. Like usual.

He doesn’t even know the guy but Call all but turned him into his own personal pillow on the bus. The worst thing is, the guy never says anything about it all. Not a single complaint. No, ‘ _Sorry, but my shoulder is hurting’_ , no ‘ _sorry, but I really like this coat, can you not drool on it?_ ’, and definitely no ‘ _Dude, you’ve got to stop, this is kind of weird.’_ He never calls it weird. If it had been Call, anything past the first time would’ve definitely been a no-no. Which makes Call far too suspicious of it all. He’s starting to think he’s doing all of this to beat some sort of world record for being the single most compliant man on local transportation anywhere because if he isn’t, then he’s pretty damn close to beating it.

Call even made a point of arriving on the bus before him on campus that day, allowing the guy the chance to choose a seat other than sitting next to Call or to even apologize properly before the bus’ movements lulls him to sleep. But when he opens his eyes again, he’s leaning on the familiar shoulder once more and he sighs.

He doesn’t know if it’s one of defeat or acceptance, because all he can think of when he wakes up is that he smells _nice_.

In a flash Call is up and walking briskly off the bus before the boy ever gets the chance to tell him that this wasn’t their stop. He ends up walking three extra blocks to get back to his house that night, and he spends most of it trying to get rid of thoughts of the boy with the fluffy mess of blonde hair that smells of caramel and hazelnut.

  

That’s it, he needs some proper sleep; he comes to this conclusion after god knows how many times he’s fallen asleep on that boy’s (broad) shoulders and woken up by his (soft) voice. No matter how much Call tries, he falls asleep too easily on that bus ride, and by the time he wakes up, he’s always too embarrassed to stay around too long to talk to the guy properly anymore.

So they’ve let it happen for an entire month.

No talking. No prior agreement.

Just the silent acceptance that Call falls asleep on his shoulder and he wakes him up for their stop.

The entire arrangement reminds Call of something akin to leaving a bunch of pots and pans disorganized in a cabinet and on the verge of spilling the next time it’s opened, but leaving it there nonetheless for the future-you to deal with it.

He doesn’t want to think about opening this cabinet.

  

One night.

He gets one night of proper sleep and he understands now that normal people do not have a constant throbbing on the back of their head, neck and shoulders nor do they have the constant need to just drop dead and be run over.

“Call, _no_ ,” is all Celia tells him when he describes to her his sudden new discovery in their shared Anthropology 101 class, a horrified look on her face.

He pays it no mind it though, because he decides that today is the day. The day he’ll finally stay awake on the bus and properly talk to the boy. He gets on the bus earlier than usual that night, getting a weird look from the bus driver that was so used to seeing Call rush in last minute.

His smug grin lasts only seconds when he realizes that the boy is already there before him, seating by the aisle, with the window seat empty.

So much for surprising him.

Call takes his seat besides the boy, fidgeting and wondering how he could start conversation with him when the bus starts to depart. They’ve just passed two blocks when Call’s plans were, once again, thrown way off course.

But not by his own actions.

The pressure on his shoulder comes to him out of nowhere and the reminder in his head that this was _the nicest person ever_ is the only thing that keeps him from jerking backwards from the contact.

_Well,_ he thinks, _this is. Something._

_Something_ being his face burning red, and he doubts it’s from the layers of clothes he has on because it’s winter, but technically being warm is a blessing during winter right? Right.

But that doesn’t change the fact that the boy’s hair tumbles over and brushes against Call’s cheeks and no, no, no, he is not thinking of how soft this semi-stranger’s hair is. He is most definitely _not_ noticing their dark eyelashes, or the small pout of their mouth that opens slightly now and then with each breath he takes.

So, no, Call is not at all blushing over the fact that a cute boy (whose shoulder he had already fallen asleep on multiple times) is right now taking a rest all on his own accord on Call’s shoulders.

If Call was being honest, this was actually the norm between the two of them. Absolutely casual and not at all weird. Especially if Call kind of, sort of, just moved in a little closer. After all, he isn’t going to be the jerk that let his good ol’ bus buddy sleep with his neck in a weird angle.

In fact, amidst his panicking discoveries, Call decides that this is actually _better_ than what he could have ever hoped for.

This is it.

_This_ is how Call can repay his bus boy back. His comeuppance for the entire month of using the boy’s shoulders as his own pillow. This time, he’ll let the boy have time to sleep—which is what any honest college student needs because they were all a little sleep-deprived.

 

   

Call could write an entire book on how to completely and royally screw things up in any scenario imaginable. He could make it available for all ages because he’s sure even toddlers have done better than him in life at this point and maybe they’d get a good laugh at his actions. It would go something like this:

Step 1: Make a plan for yourself.

Step 2: Disregard that plan entirely.

Simple and easy. So easy in fact, that Call completes those two steps in a matter of seconds. One second, he’s mapping out his plan of comeuppance, and the next? He’s sleeping right alongside his bus buddy.

He’s woken up not by the boy’s usual voice, but a gruffer one that yells at him from a distance.

“—ast stop. I said, _hey_ , _you two!_ ”

He’s blinking and raising his head as he hears the bus driver announce once more: “I said, this is the last stop. You two gotta get off now.”

It takes Call a moment to register the figure slowly waking up beside him as his minds goes over the news.

“What.”

“Last stop, you two are the only ones left.” He says this with a nod towards the open doors, a slight crease on his forehead. Call appreciates that he at least looks worried enough for the two of them but for Call, everything from the neck up of his body is burning, his ears are buzzing, and he thinks maybe that worried look from the bus driver is more for how red Call must have looked rather than the fact they both slept past their stops.

He definitely doesn’t want to look beside him.

Over the rustling sounds of waking up and stretching, Call can hear the boy swivel to look around the bus to gawk at the empty seats. Another beat and Call can’t bear it.

“Dude, I’m so sorry—“

“Sorry I fell asleep—“

Call stops, staring at the other boy, who mirrors his look. Before either one could continue, they hear a cough from the front, a reminder of their audience albeit consisting of only a single bus driver. They hustle off the bus, apologizing to the driver on their way only to receive a strange smile from him.

_This isn’t weird_ , he thinks as the two of them stand still where the bus left them, _right?’_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Who does this??_  
>  Who goes up to people and shake their hands like they’re businessmen making a job proposal and not complete strangers stranded in the middle of nowhere at midnight? Who, honest to God, does that? _(Aaron, that’s who)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! Thank u so much for the feedback from the last chapter ; V;)/  
>  I've got this and the next chapter written out, I just gotta look each one over before posting them all.  
> Again, fic art by [joker-ace](http://joker-ace.tumblr.com/post/158933857714/cassandraclare-hollyblack-pls-let-these-boys) !!

_It’s definitely weird._

It’s got to be, with the way the other boy refuses to look Call in the eyes.

Not that he wants to be stared at, Call tells himself quickly, weirdly defensive to his own inquiries about the other boy. His uh…his bus buddy.

Oh God he didn’t even know the dude’s _name_. They’ve both slept on each other’s shoulders and still didn’t know a goddamn thing about the other boy. Is there a procedure for this kind of thing? Like, since they’ve officially slept together,— _not in that way, not in that way, nO_ — are they officially friends? Something else? He needed to see where they were on the line between Strangers and Friends. He might have been the _nicest person ever_ , but even murderers were prone to have a nice front. Celia would have given him a scolding for this kind of mishap.

No, wait. Call corrects himself. She might actually be pleased with these events, if what she told him a couple days ago meant anything.

“I’m glad,” was all she started with, coming from behind Call in the café.

Call had lifted up an eyebrow at the random statement from his friend. “Good for you?”

It hadn’t been the first thing she’s ever said to him that made no sense. Plenty of things that came from Celia’s mouth puzzled Call on the daily basis. It kept him on his toes. “So are you here to show off to the rest of us sorry saps?”

But she shook her head, blonde curls moving about her and looked outside the window. “I mean I’m glad you’re finally getting some sleep! It’s good for you.”

He drew back from her words, as if slapped. “Me? Sleeping? In _this_ century?”

“Call.”

_“I think not.”_

“Oh my God.”

“I’ll have you know,” he continued, “that my sleeping schedule is still very much non-existent. Don’t ruin my rep like that, Celia.”

“A rep for having the worst bags under your eyes?” Celia rolled her eyes at him. “That really shouldn’t be a bragging point, y’know?”

At that, Call huffed, agreeing to disagree. “How could you even think that of me?”

“Well, for one, you got along pretty well with Jasper last class.”

“I called him an insufferable weenus and we chucked paper balls at each other the whole time,” Call stared at her, doubt and worry visibly growing, “is that what ‘ _getting along_ ’ looks like to you?”

Celia scrunched up her nose, swatting at Call for his tone. “Oh shush, that was tame compared to what you guys usually get to. Remember that one time during the last project?”

Call remembered. Last project the class was stuck with basic life-study exercises of drawing boxes and bottles. It was tedious work for the design class, and felt like to Call like they were separating pieces of sand one by one. It was that bad. Everyone was either bored, getting antsy, or both, and that was a terrible combination for someone like Call. Add someone like Jasper (condescending and a prick) to the mix, and, well. Things were bound to happen.

It made for a memorable time for one night.

Call was pretty sure Jasper still had oil pastel he couldn’t quite wash off from his hair.

“So what I’m hearing from you, is that you want me to up my ante?” he smiled mischievously at her, a shine in his eyes that promised something worse in store for their classmate. “Duly noted.”

“No! Not what I meant Call! But if it’s not sleep you’re getting, then…is it something else?”

When Call failed to give an answer, his friend gasped, her hands covering her mouth in sudden realization. She leaned forward across the table and spoke with a hushed tone.

“Or is it…a _someone_ else?”

“A what.” It was times like these that Call remembered, with dread and alarm, how much of a gossip his friend was. Not a thing goes on this campus without Celia’s ear on it.

Before he could even defend himself, Celia gave a little squeal and swatted at his arm again.

“Well, whatever you’ve been getting, I think you should definitely get more of it!” was all she left him with, leaving a very confused Call behind and a battered arm.

So, yes. He might be killed tonight but Celia would have been happy for him.

Did he also mention that his phone is currently at 20% and dying?

So much for his comeuppance.

“Uhm.”

Call jumps at the voice, too engrossed with his own wallowing to have noticed the other boy moving towards him. They stare right at him with steady green eyes, a wide smile and an arm outstretched for a handshake.

“I’m Aaron.”

For once in his life, Call stays stock still. In fact, he feels oddly attacked by this gesture alone for no other reason than the fact that he can’t stand the sight of it. _Aaron_. The name rings around his head, growing louder and louder by the second. The smile, the name, it’s all too much. What the hell, _Aaron_. So he breaks eye-contact and stares at the offered hand instead, still genuinely confused.

_Who does this??_

Who goes up to people and shake their hands like they’re businessmen making a job proposal and not complete strangers stranded in the middle of nowhere at midnight? Who, honest to God, does that? ( _Aaron, that’s who_ ) He sees no weapon, no knife or switchblade, but still he’s suspicious. For a moment he wonders if what the other boy actually want is a slap of the hand, or some other kind of complicated handshake to indicate Call is in the know.

Call is _not_ in the know.

He’s desperately trying to figure out a way to express this without being embarrassingly basic about it, when Aaron coughs to get his attention. Call’s cheeks warm as if getting caught when the outstretch arm drops to their side before he could really do anything about it.

He tries to compensate by shouting his name because of course that makes sense.

“CALL.”

And backtracks just as fast, when Aaron looks well and thoroughly spooked, “It’s, uh. My name’s Call.”

The other boy’s mouth shapes into an ‘o’, not saying a thing, forcing Call to continue on to dispel the suffocating silence between them. “It’s actually Callum. Callum Hunt. But Call is fine. Just fine.”

He’s not fine. He’s anything _but_ fine, name or otherwise. He’s actually pretty sure that getting his entire hand bitten by his dog/wolf/husky Havoc would feel 100% better than having to spend another second speaking here. And oh hell, here he goes about to open his mouth yet again, regret already settling down in his stomach—

“Oh! Cool!”

Call stops and tilts his head up, surprised at the comment.

“Cool, yeah that’s…,” the other boy looks down, looking a little frazzled, for what reason, Call couldn’t really guess. “That’s great.”

“Thanks.” Call says lamely, like he’s worked hard to get the name. “I was born with it.”

Aaron glances up, his smile a bit shaky now but gives a chuckle. The sound echoes in Call’s mind and he thinks it’s going to stay there for a while.

“Guess we should find a way back, huh?” Aaron, ever the man with a plan, and no longer a possible psychopath, holds up his own phone and starts to swipe at it. “Google Maps says we can make it back to our stop in…an hour or so?”

Call tries not to wince.

 

 

xx

 

 

 

 _He wears a lot of black,_ is Aaron’s first conclusive thought of Callum Hunt. Lots of black with varying shades of gray. Kind of like batman. A very low-key batman.

But of course, to Aaron, he isn’t Callum Hunt or even Call, but simply the random kid that always arrives a second before the bus is about to leave. He looks out of breath, having to always sprint the last couple of minutes to catch up to the bus. Aaron originally thinks it’s because he’s having a bad day. Things happen. You get on the bus late. Life goes on. But then that bad day turns into a bad couple of days, then into a bad week, and by the time Aaron is thinking it’s just an overall bad month for him, the boy manages to surpass even that when he forgets his bag one night and Aaron has to hand it to the driver when he realizes what happened.

Admittedly, he’s kind of getting worried for the kid.

“Don’t,” Tamara warns, pointing a spoon at Aaron when he casually mentioned it over dinner at the dining hall one night.

“Don’t what Tamara?” he asks, rolling his eyes and pushing her spoon aside, “Be a normal person that sometimes worry about other people?”

He catches the glove fitfully thrown at him with practiced ease.

“No, Aaron, I mean: ‘ _Don’t be stupid and try to help another stranger danger_ ’,” she says through gritted teeth, the spoon in her hands threatening to be the next weapon thrown. He scoffs.

“He’s not a ‘stranger danger’, Tamara” he insists with added air quotes. Looking down at his tray and moving the food around, he mutters, “He’s just a kid like us that’s just going through something. Probably.”

She levels him a flat look.

“I mean! I didn’t even say I was going to do anything about it! Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a bleeding heart for everything and everyone that I come by, okay?” His raised voice catches the attention of passerby’s and he collects himself before continuing.

“I just wanted to tell you something from my day, so how about a ‘ _Well that’s nice of you to say, Aaron. So here’s how_ my _day’s been, etcetera etcetera’_?” this time it was his turn to point his spoon at her.

She _hmphed_ at this, tapping her fingers at the table, before leaning towards him with a worried look that made him even more unnerved about this entire thing. “I’m just saying...Don’t forget what happened last time with Drew, okay?”

Aaron grips his spoon. He remembers Drew very well.

Aaron still gets pity-looks from others because of what happened.

In another second he feels his friend placing a hand over his and he remembers to breathe again.  

Tamara then smiles, dangerous and teasing, and leans her chin on a hand.

“ _Besides_. It seems to me, you’re at least a bleeding heart for this one.”

Aaron sputters as his friend’s cat-like grin widens and her eyebrows raise playfully at him.

“No?? No I don’t?? Tamara what—,” he tries in vain as she laughs and picks up her tray to leave him with his jumbled thoughts. No of course he doesn’t have any inkling of an interest towards this stranger on the bus. That would be stupid.

No. More than that, it would be _movie-cliché stupid_ and Aaron’s life is the farthest from being anything like the movies.

He tells himself this over and over again until the next day when he prepares to just keep on going separated as much as possible from the boy. The bus is packed today by the time he gets on it and Aaron can see the panic on his face from trying to choose a seat, glancing occasionally back down on his leg. It’s that glance that catches him unawares, and before he knows it, his arms were moving. Aaron could practically hear Tamara yelling at him in his mind as he moves his bag for the boy because yes goddammit, Aaron is _kind_ of invested in this kid.

He watches the boy go through a series of emotions at his action before taking it. That should have been it. A good deed for the night. It should’ve been all that happens between the two. 

But then Aaron feels a weight on his shoulder and suddenly it’s not just that.

It startles Aaron, when he looks over to the other boy, and _really_ sees him as if for the first time. No longer in a hurry, he can see that the boy is a stark contrast to the one he always sees in the morning, glaring at everyone with a scowl that was more or less a permanent fixture on his face. Instead, Aaron sees the way the boy’s face relaxes, features softening as the tension melts away to easy slumber and in this light, he really _did_ look just like any other kid that was trying to get by.

He feels a squeeze in his chest and brushes it off as sympathy.  

But when he hears the boy’s voice, light and incoherent, in his sleep, Aaron’s first thought halts him.

_Cute._

He barely reins in the blush when the boy wakes up.

By the time they’re both off the bus, he’s quick to leave, trying not to let the other boy see how red his face was.

 _That was stupid_ , he tells himself almost like an afterthought, as he walks briskly back, confused at his own reaction, to his shared apartment with Tamara. _Really, really, really stupid._

 

 

The next day he makes a point not to make eye-contact, because he doesn’t want to remember and he’s willing to admit—begrudgingly—that maybe he gets flustered too easily at those kind of close situations. It’s a weakness, he guesses. Despite growing attention from others through most of his life, anything remotely physical is still unknown territory for him. So he overreacted. Someone with his kind of history is bound to, after all. Still, he leaves a seat open next to him, because somewhere in the back of his mind the memory of the boy staring down at his leg glares at him.

To his surprise, the other boy doesn’t sit next to Aaron throughout most of the day and he’s somewhat disappointed. Maybe he _had_ seen Aaron flustered that night and quickly labeled him as the Creepy Bus Dude that he should stay away from. The thought alone is far too alarming and sticks in his mind for longer than he’d thought it ever would for a stranger whose opinions shouldn’t really matter.

That night, however, the boy sits next to him again, and an overwhelming sense of relief rolls over Aaron. He tells himself it’s because he didn’t ever want to be known as the Creepy Bus Dude and nothing more.

In a matter of seconds, he feels the weight on his shoulder again, and Aaron tries to think of anything but his thoughts from yesterday. Instead he focuses on how much pressure seems to go away whenever he falls asleep and he can’t help but think that this is helpful for the other boy. If nothing else, that thought alone eases his own consciousness.

When their stop nears by, Aaron shakes the boy awake, only to get a mumbled reply.

Again, the thought ( _endearing, adorable—_ ) comes too fast for him and already he feels himself smiling as a response at the other boy.

Shit.

He’s fast to get off the bus, internally screaming at himself because _whAT why would you think that why why why._

 

The third time it happens the other boy turns to Aaron, trying to say something. Aaron doesn’t want to admit it but he panics at the thought of actual conversation. He doesn’t want to admit to anything that’s been happening. Doesn’t want to actually think about it or to face consequences.

Doesn’t want a reason for it to not be a _thing_ anymore.

So he pushes the other boy ahead to get off the bus and just runs for it.

The fourth time he sees the boy on the bus, alarm bells sound off in his head because he’s actually there before Aaron. He considers for a moment to turn around, to wait for the next bus, but stops. Taking a step closer. he notices that the boy had already fallen asleep— _Does he get any sleep at all?_ —and a small smile appears again. Sitting down next to him, he buries himself in thoughts of what the other boy does when not on the bus. Was he only like this on the bus? Did he fall asleep everywhere too?

Just imagining it has Aaron chuckling to himself and it’s a wondrous feeling that has him shaking his head in disbelief afterwards. It’s been a long time since he’d had anything good and simple to laugh about.

 

This happens for an entire month and he’ll bite his tongue off before he ever admits to Tamara and her Cheshire smile that it was basically the best month _ever_.

It’s simple and barely any conversation ever passes between the two, but the time on the bus is what Aaron finds himself looking forward to every day from then on. Between papers and lab projects, and not to mention getting ready for next season, a lot’s been piling up on Aaron’s back. His only two sources of relief were pretty much Tamara and the bus boy.

Tamara is pretty quick to ruin both, though.

“Oh my god you don’t even know _his name_?”

Aaron winces at Tamara’s tone, finding it hard to look her in the eyes, as his ears turns red. “We barely talk, Tamara.”

“A month, Aaron, you two have been at this for this long and you don’t even know his name.”

“Sorry, but it’s not really easy to converse when the other one is _sleeping_ ,” he points out.

“Then maybe talk to him when he’s actually awake! Wow! What an idea that is!” she exclaims, wearing a shocked face. When Aaron does nothing but give her a look, she crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “What is he anyway, an insomniac? A vampire? Why does he even fall asleep so much?”

Aaron tries to hide the smile that comes from hearing her questions, the same ones he’s thought over and over again before.

A minute passes by before he realizes that she’s stopped talking to him, and is instead sitting back and staring at him from across the table.

“What?”

“Hm.”

_“What?”_

_“_ Did you know you’ve been smiling for like, minutes, now?”

Whatever _was_ on his face drops instantly at her question. “What? No I wasn’t.”

She raises an eyebrow and it makes Aaron pat his face to feel if there really was a smile. “Nope. Nothing.”

“Aaron. Oh Aaron, Aaron, _Aaron_ ,” she sighs, shaking her head, “You have it that hard, huh?”

He gulps and doesn’t answer.

When the lights are finally out at their place, he lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling for hours. He thinks of school, of job applications, of next month’s payment, of every little detail in his life. And amidst all of it, there’s a speck in it that he saves for last. It’s not the most significant aspect in his life, and certainly not the longest.

It’s something small, new, and definitely finite. It’s always been like that, his time with the boy on the bus.

 _But, does it have to be?_ a voice in his head inquires, sounding a lot like Tamara.

And in a moment of weakness, he holds onto that tiny speck.

He closes his eyes and let’s himself do something treacherous to his past beliefs: He lets himself dream. What if he actually spoke to other boy? In his mind, he sees the boy turning to him, their silver eyes shining. He wonders what their laugh sounds like or what kind of jokes they were into. Maybe Aaron could just spitball some to test, using some of the worst puns in his arsenal. He wants to ask him if he ever slept at all, and wants to ask what kind of schedule kept the boy so busy. He wants to know, acutely, if somewhere in that schedule he would have time for a walk with Aaron later.

Aaron sighs and pulls the cover over his head.

Maybe he does have it bad.

There.

Maybe Aaron Stewart _does_ have a bleeding heart for the boy that finds comfort on his shoulders every night on the bus. Maybe he wanted more than just a fleeting moment between the school campus up to their shared bus stop with him.

A lot of ‘maybe’s’ find themselves piling up in his mind and he falls asleep in a fit of frustration (at himself, at the boy, and slightly at Tamara). In the morning after, he wakes up in pretty much in the same state and continues the day with a slight edge on his tone. Just a few lines between him and Tamara during lunch has her subtly passing him another cup of coffee before he has to go.

His classes meet a number of bumpy roads that day (running in late, missing homework, forgotten assignments) and by the time his lab-partner, Jasper, makes an off-handed comment, Aaron is just about ready to crash and explode.

He rushes to get to the bus, ready to go home and get himself together again, when the other boy arrives relatively early. They sit in silence, and Aaron sighs in relief for the moment of peace in the overall hectic day. He closes his eyes to really appreciate it even more and to push back the stress on his shoulders.

 

He wakes up groggy, and confused.

Very, very confused.

 _Why is the bus sideways?_ he finds asking himself when his eyes finally adjust themselves. He hears voices talking but didn’t really pay attention to them as he lifted his head and—

Wait.

 _What_.

He moves slowly, looking around, and seeing no one but the bus driver and the boy beside him. The boy who’s shoulder he’d apparently slept on.

He feels the heat on his cheeks when he realizes, a beat after, that he wished he was awake for it.

_Get a grip._

When they finally get off, an amused smile on the bus driver’s face, they stand at a stop he’s never been at before. The stores around look slightly familiar, and only a handful of people are still walking about. They weren’t completely lost per se, but it was close.

Aaron tries to assess their location as much as he can, feeling slightly at fault for being the to fall asleep this time. And not, of course, because he’s trying to avoid eye-contact with the other boy or anything.

But now that his mind has brought it up, he can’t help but sneak a glance over him—

—and hastily look away because he looks _pissed as all hell_.

Oh God, Aaron really did it now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron’s never felt guiltier in his life.  
> He feels like he forced Call into this whole situation, and it nearly kills the guy. Calzones weren’t supposed to be this dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I know I said I had everything planned out, but I really wanted to wait till I finished reading the Silver Mask before finishing this chapter, and WOW that did not help my heart like. at all.  
> So I reworked this chapter to give myself some relief from that latest book :'D  
> I know it was supposed to be just a trilogy, this fic, but i really don't think i could. So there's going to be another chapter before the end. Hope you guys don't mind! And once again, thanks so much for the support and feedback from everyone!!  
>   
> once again, fic art by [joker-ace](http://joker-ace.tumblr.com/post/171504407124/joker-ace-cassandraclare-hollyblack-pls-let) !!

Alright. Aaron knew it wasn’t going to start with them hitting it off right away.

Strangers to friends. That’s his simple goal tonight.

Hell, Tamara and him met with quite a few bumps early in the road before they ever became best friends, competitive as Tamara was back in high school. And Jasper…well, he’s still working on that. So honestly, this isn’t even the worst case scenario just yet.

It’s just…It’s never been this awkward between them before.

Granted, they barely ever talked on the bus, and one of them was usually asleep, but _still_.

Aaron’s never wanted to hit the thick static silence between two people this much before.  They’re about to turn another corner, as per Google’s instructions, when Aaron tries again.

“So…,” he starts, offering an olive branch because the other boy— _Callum Hunt_ —can still barely look at him for reasons Aaron can’t fathom.

“So.” Is all Call says in reply, dropping the conversation so hard that Aaron nearly flinches.

It lies between them, dead, and with almost no chance of return.

Aaron pushes through. “You ever been this far downtown?”

He’s always been a little stubborn.

Call glances at him, too quick for Aaron to assess what it’s for, and grunts. A minute passes during their walk and Aaron panics. He’s seconds away from choosing between bad cliché weather talk or spilling his deepest, darkest secrets right then and there just to get something out of the other boy when he hears, “Not on foot.”

Aaron nearly trips.

Call momentarily stops on his tracks, waiting for Aaron to readjust himself, eyebrow rightfully raised at him. Still, it takes Aaron a couple seconds in order to assess the fact that Call even replied back, before jumping a bit back in step with him.

“Right? I think I probably passed these parts by car, or bus. Never thought much of it before. You recognize anything?”

It takes a while before Call answers again, but when he does, Aaron is desperate to hold on tight to other boy’s voice. It’s rough, like he’s not used to speaking so he has to swallow a couple of times, tired too. He points out little things. Neon signs that calls for late night suitors and lovers, graffiti’s that colors the brick walls here and there, busted side walk signs topped with snow. It’s a nightlife that Aaron never really had time to care for before but with Call’s words it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in his life.

A couple of cars pass them by, and Aaron wonders if maybe they’re better off just calling an Uber than trying to endure the silence. He knows he probably should. He owes it to the guy, having been the first one to sleep first. He knew better than to think Call could actually stay awake for the both of them.

Plus.

Aaron looks beside him, at Call’s leg. One hour was a long way to go. Not counting the time it takes to actually get back to their places. And to make matters worse, it was wintertime. Just making them brave the cold of nighttime would just be cruel.

So he stops and waits for Call to do the same.

“What? Is it rerouting?” he asks, probably wondering how they could have even made a wrong turn. Aaron looks down at his phone sheepishly, then shakes his head.

“Actually, I uh,” he begins, “Do you maybe want to try Uber instead?”

The stare Call gives him is a long one, and Aaron almost thinks he’s back in class, giving the wrong answer and with the nagging sense that he should have listened to Tamara about something after all.

He’s so stuck in this feeling that he almost misses what the other boy says.

Or specifically, what his stomach says, which is just a low grumbling sound but one that makes Call turn slightly red. He coughs loudly as if that could cover it up.

“Uh, well, probably-” Call is saying when Aaron, who is a constant disappointment to himself and probably Tamara because he really, really wants to keep trying with this guy, interrupts him with a smile.

“Or, maybe we can stop to eat for a bit?”

Call looks to the side (Was there something on Aaron? A bit of leftover from lunch on his face? A sign that said in big bold letters to not look him in the eyes??) and begins to turn down the offer, when suddenly—as if whatever higher power that was looking over them that night finally took pity on Aaron Stewart—his own stomach growls.

The two boys look at each other before Call gestures towards Aaron’s phone.

“Alright, Google, where to?”

 

 xx

 

Google’s monotonous voice directs them to a shady looking calzone store, aptly named _Monzone’s Calzones_ three streets down.

It looks too purposely hidden from the main road, and Call has the sneaking suspicion that they may or may not have just stumbled onto a mafia front. Still, Call could honestly care less if he gets shivved on the spot because he can smell the calzones already and it calls to his very soul, bodily harm be damned.

Aaron audibly gulps at the sight and Call simply nods in agreement.

They enter the store and much to Call’s surprise, there’s already quite a number of people in there, and none are wearing any fancy business suits or showcasing a pistol by their sides. So far so good.

A couple of the groups look like they could be students from their college, actually. Some are dressed to the nines, with tight dresses and expensive looking shirts, while others look as if they came in with nothing more than their PJs. Really, the only thing they all had in common was the look of utter exhaustion on their faces as they waited for their individual order.

Relatable, that’s what this place feels like.

[A smooth jazz song echoes from their kitchen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zrSoHgAAWo) that makes Call want to sit back and sleep with little to no worries in life, letting the warmth of the place seeps its way to his bones. It’s already infinitely better than staying outside.

As they near the counter, Call takes note of the wall that seem to be dedicated to the store’s customers. Pictures litter the wall of different customers eating their calzones, posing for the camera. Some, he notices, have actual workers posing with the customers too. It’s an endearing way to shout out to their customers, Call thinks, and he even laughs a bit when he sees Celia and Kai Hale in one of them.

It’s only when Aaron nudges him to order, that Call suddenly panics.

“Shit. _Shit_.”

He doesn’t have any money. Both the cashier worker and Aaron stares at Call, and he thinks maybe this is the perfect time to be shivved after all, if only to avoid their questions.

Usually when these situations come up, like when Celia or Rafe asks if he wanted to eat with them, he can bluff and say he’s already eaten at one of the dining halls. When in reality he doesn’t really eat anything besides what he’s brought from home and he just sucks it up the rest of the day with whatever monstrosity he finds in the depths of his bag. 

Even so, they’ve already walked all the way here and it seems stupid now to suddenly announce that he isn’t hungry after all.

But Call doesn’t need to say anything at all, as Aaron follows up with “I’m paying for his too,” and another smile towards his way.

Call wants to groan.

_This fucking kid._

He’s going to end up owing Aaron his _life_ by the end of this night if he keeps this up.

(Maybe that’s his goal, who knows?)

(Unlikely, and probably impossible. Call already sold his soul to half of his video games and the other half to his finals in freshman year. He’s got nothing else to barter.)

By the time he gives his order (he didn’t even know that macaroni & cheese calzone was a _thing_ ) Aaron is already sitting at a table beside the wall of pictures.

He’s looking through them as Call sits down, when he points suddenly at one of them.

“That one over there? I think she’s my professor for Anthology, I never thought I’d see her in anything but a suit.”

It isn’t how Call thought their conversation would start, but it’s the kind of small talk he can handle.

“How can you tell then?”

“She showed off that tattoo of hers on the first day. Some story about originally wanting a tramp stamp, but settling for the crown on the arm instead.”

“For now,” is all Call says before biting down on his meal, and Aaron chuckles at the reply.

Call looks at the woman in the picture wearing a tank top with an arm over another woman’s shoulder, looking thoroughly wrecked as if they’ve just barely survived a frat party. Call knows the look. Celia often sends him at least 20 snapchats on her nights out.

“I think they’re married now actually,” Aaron muses just before taking another bite into his calzone. Call hums a reply, mouth busy trying to work out what he’s tasting from his calzone.

It’s surreal, really.

Not the calzone, because _that_ tastes amazing. No doubt about it. But at the fact that it’s past midnight now on a school night, and yet here he was in some tucked away calzone store, in God knows where, eating with a technical stranger.

He pauses at that. _Stranger_ did not seem to fit the boy in front of him anymore.

But what did Call really know of Aaron beside the fact he still holds the title for the _nicest person eve_ r _?_ He knows that he’s cute (There, _there_ , he admits it. He’s not blind, for Pete’s sake!) He knows that he’s considerate of other people’s situations. That he has some interesting professors, and that they would probably be never in the same classes because Anthology was the farthest in his mind.

He also knows, quite guiltily, that Aaron is trying really, _really_ hard.

Because what Call knows best is himself, and he knows he’s not really the best person to be around most of the time. He’s constantly amazed that people still talk to him from time. (Celia and Jasper are weird exceptions of their own because Celia is friends with probably everyone, and Jasper, despite all their fighting, was a loyal and alright guy.)

It’s just. Well.

He was so _sure_ that the only reason Aaron has been so amicable with him thus far, for letting him get away with sleeping on his shoulder time and time again, was that they never had a chance to actually talk. Which meant that Call never had a chance to ruin whatever image Aaron had of him, like he did with most people he met. He probably thought that Call was an upstanding citizen of a sort that deserved all of this kindness.

It’s why he tried his best to keep their conversations so short earlier, because then at least there was a chance that Aaron wouldn’t figure out how unlikeable of a guy he really was. The way other people knew him as.

He’s not really one to care for what others thought of him; he gave up on that long ago back in high school.

Still, in front of Aaron, he wants to be someone better.

So he tries to think of ways he can actually talk to him.

Yet all Call ends up doing is moan because _goddamn_ , macaroni & cheese has never tasted so good in his mouth before.

It’s not till he’s a bite or so away from finishing does Call realize he’s got the attention of not only Aaron but workers as well.

Uh.

He coughs, lightly at first to cover his embarrassment, when it suddenly turns into an actual coughing fit because Call is just the _epitome_ of coolness and of fucking course this would happen to him right now.

Aaron is by his side in a heartbeat, patting his back and Call, to his further embarrassment, finds the cashier worker coming up to them with a water bottle.

God, he might have just found the best food place around town and he’s already swearing himself to never coming back.

He gulps the water down in haste and is panting by the end of the whole ordeal. Some of the workers behind the counter and a few customers clap at his survival.

His bus buddy treats him to a meal and he nearly dies on him.

_‘I’m not usually this dramatic, I swear’_ is what he wants to tell Aaron as the other boy looks on worriedly at him, but he’s not sure he can even keep that promise before the night ends.

Aaron doesn’t speak until Call’s downed the whole bottle. “You okay?”

“Almost died, but yeah. Still kickin’.” Call throws a weak fist pump in the air before leaning back his seat. All that aside, though, that really was a great calzone. He’ll have to give this place some good reviews.

Call turns back to find Aaron quickly shift his gaze back down at his calzone. Huh.

_Be good. Be better._

Alright, he’s got to be honest and straight to the point about this. He leans back towards the table, clasping his hands together. He’s all business now.

“I’ll pay you back,” he says with a serious look so Aaron knows that Call isn’t one to forget dues. (Except maybe, homework dues, but that’s a different matter entirely.) Call honestly didn’t mean for it to sound like he was swearing off his life to Aaron; he just really didn’t like owing anyone anything. “The Uber too.” 

_And for the bus rides_ , he thinks, but keeps that to himself.

“Aaron?”

 

 xx

 

Aaron’s never felt guiltier in his life.

He feels like he forced Call into this whole situation, and it nearly kills the guy. Calzones weren’t supposed to be this dangerous.

Now he’s got Call looking as if he’s being held at gunpoint and promising to pay him back. The worst part—the _absolute_ worst—is that Aaron’s first thought is to go along with it and to immediately make Call promise for another date.

_This isn’t even a date. Shut up._

So he shakes his head fast, blonde curls swinging, and firmly set to let Call know it’s fine.

But when Call sets his gray eyes unwaveringly on Aaron, he’s immediately taken back.

It’s familiar, he realizes, that stubbornness in his eyes, his words. The want to not owe anyone anything.

He’s been there.

Having grown up with nothing more than a delicate resource of finance as a foster kid that found himself stuck in the system for most of his life, he’s known that resolve. It’s the look of someone that has had very little from the start.

It’s not something a lot of people would understand, Aaron knows. He’s met all sort of people in life that reacted differently around Aaron because of a similar attitude from him. Most of the time, when the topic of money came up, conversations simply turned awkward and tense around him, until Aaron relents and try to make light of the whole thing. Some threw him looks of pity and reassurances, with the used line of ‘Oh you don’t need to worry about _that,_ ’ which always made him force a smile. Others, in some understanding, never try to push him for answers and simply accept the way he is.

For a moment, Aaron forgets his crush, forgets all their instances on the bus, and simply sees Call as is.

A boy with his own life and struggles, that has led him here, same as Aaron.

He sees it in flashes then, of what it would be like to truly have Callum Hunt as a friend. Someone that didn’t flinch at certain topics, and who wouldn’t tiptoe around Aaron. Someone doggedly independent and determined as Tamara, even if in his own way. He sees how easily Call could fit in his life.

He knows then and there, that he cannot refuse Call.

“Okay,” he says, and repeats it again, because he said it too softly the first time. The relief that comes from Call is instantaneous and Aaron can’t help but laugh a bit.

Strangers to friends. _Take it one step at a time_ , he tells himself.

When they finish their meals, the store is nowhere near empty. In fact, another group of college students stumble their way into the store just as they leave, in a hurry to shake off the snow from their boots.

They don’t necessarily have a 24/7 sign on their store, but Aaron has a gut feeling, as he gives the place one last glance, that they will be open even for the 5 AM stragglers later on.   

They walk a bit farther down the street before Aaron finally takes out his phone for an Uber. Call huddles closer to look at the app with him and Aaron inwardly cheers at the fact that food has seemingly reassured Call that Aaron was an OK guy. They scroll through the profiles of different drivers that are nearby, and find only one guy available for the night.

The driver, Lucy, comes relatively quick. She gives the two of them a look over once before telling them to hop in and they both sigh in relief that they didn’t need to stay out in the cold longer than needed.

The closest destination was Aaron’s apartment, so they decided earlier on that he’d be the first one off. And if he was disappointed at having to part from Call soon, Aaron never showed it.

Being inside a ride, however, suddenly reminds them both of the events that brought them here in the first place and they start their Uber drive with little to no talk and the occasional quizzical glance from their driver.

It's not awkward per se, but it _is_  the kind of silence that leaves too many things unsaid between the two of them. Already, it's so different from the silence of the bus rides.

 

 

After the first couple minutes pass by, Lucy has evidently given up any hope for the two and opts to playing some of her own songs. [They’re instrumental songs that Aaron vaguely recognizes are from a couple of Disney movies.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eAPUxhz91BM) The soothing sound calms him down, bordering on lulling him back to sleep.

Only the determination to not repeat today’s mistake keeps him awake. Although a voice in his mind jokingly tells him it’s more of a miracle than a mistake that any of this happened at all.

He’s blinking through different streets signs and turns, his eyelids getting heavier with each time, and by the time he hears Lucy calling him, Aaron can only take note of how sluggish he feels. At first.

He definitely fell asleep. But by the angle of head, and the stiffness from his neck, he also definitely fell asleep on Call’s shoulders. _Again_.

Exhaustion hit them both hard.

The smirk from Lucy tells him all he needs to know, and somehow, even through his exhaustion he manages to blush.

He pulls himself away from Call, an excuse already on his lips, when he finds once again, that he too had fallen asleep.

Aaron smiles fondly at him, because yeah, he should have seen that coming.

A cough from in front wipes his smiles away instantly, reminding him of the driver. _No time for your crushing_ , he scolds himself. He wasn’t about to leave Call asleep in a car with a stranger (and yes, he realizes the irony in this considering their own circumstance). He shakes Call as much as he can to wake him, but for once, Call is staying resolutely asleep.

At that, Aaron feels a bit responsible for making him stay up so long when it was obvious the other boy got very little sleep in the first place.

“Call, buddy?” Aaron tries again, nudging more as he senses the growing impatience of Lucy the driver. “I’ve got to go.”

Finally, Call gives a lethargic nod to his words, eyes slowly blinking its way awake.

Aaron sighs out of relief and finally drag himself out of the car. A rising determination to get to his bed or somewhere flat to lie down on pushes him towards his door.

It’s been a long night, but he thanks God—or whoever—for it.

It’s not until he’s by his doorstep that he hears it: a yawn.

But not from him.

He moves slowly, thinking he must be _really_ tired, and therefore imagining things. Because there is absolutely no reason for Callum Hunt to be looking dazed and confused, and standing on his sidewalk.

They stare at each for a moment, a lifetime, before Aaron ends up walking towards him.

“Call,” he’s saying, panic growing, “what are you doing here?”

But all Call does is blink and blink at him, and Aaron gets the feeling he’s just barely standing on his two feet. His voice is layered in sleep when he responds with, “Our stop?”

For a second, Aaron is nothing but a ball of confusion. Our stop? They lived in different places. What did he mean by our—

Then he stops, realization working its way through his drowsiness. Then groans because once again, it’s somewhat his own fault. All those times in the bus with Aaron waking Call up for their shared bus stop must have made a habit in Call’s bones that made Aaron waking him up synonymous with getting off the bus at the same time.

Which meant Call simply thought they were just getting off at their bus stop once more, and thus followed Aaron out of the Uber without thought.

It’s a bit disconcerting that he had already made that much of an influence on the other guy.

Aaron looks around even though he already knows that the Uber car is long gone, and knows that he probably can’t get another ride for Call for the night. And he certainly isn’t about to tell Call to find his way back home in his state. The number of way that can go wrong is just too long.

In the end, Aaron knew what he had to do.

 

 XX

 

Tamara isn’t nice in the way most people would describe nice. Usually you’d imagine nice with something soft, that came easily with bubbly smiles and a glowing positive attitude. Someone that could be motherly, with a patience of a saint.

She is none of that.

In fact, she is the complete opposite of that when she ends up opening the door to her roommate slash best friend, who she was preparing some kind of speech to. It was going to be somewhere between scolding and congratulatory because staying out this late with no calls or text was a first for her friend and she simply had so many things to say.

But when she sees the company Aaron has brought with him, everything she had ready to say is wiped completely off the table.

She knows, of course, who the other boy is.

It’s Callum Hunt.

And before anyone can call her a stalker, she justifies her actions as a worried friend who has seen Aaron gone through some terribly scarring times with strangers before. Because even though he denies it and tries to play tough, Aaron truly did have one of the biggest hearts she’s ever known. And sadly, the world is just _not_ known to play nice with the hearts of kind people like him.

So she just had to make sure.

She had to make sure this mysterious bus boy that had captured her best friend’s attention wasn’t another mistake. That he wasn’t another boy like Drew that would end up hurting him.

Two times. Two times did she hide herself in the bus to see for herself what matter of boy he was. What she got was that: he was always late, seemed to have an aversion to any colorful clothing save for his red gloves which she thinks was probably a gift from a friend anyway, and that he really did sleep in a matter of seconds. Just like that.

And that it all made Aaron smile so serenely at him.

She did not return for a third time.

“Aaron,” is all Tamara starts with, but not unkindly. Just worried. “Did you kidnap him?”

It’s always so funny to watch Aaron actually consider the fact that she might have the slightest of doubts of his character. He sputters a bit, even though she can see he is just sincerely so beat from the night’s events, whatever they might have been.

“No, I—I, listen. Can we just come in?” Tamara smiles, to let him know she’s only teasing, and moves aside to let Aaron guide his crush into their apartment.

She watches as he helps Call—as Jasper exasperatedly calls him whenever he complains about this boy in his art courses—take off his boots. “Well, that escalated quickly, huh?”

Aaron glares at her words, but is too tired to comment back. It’s a wonder he lasted this long, really, considering how Aaron Stewart was probably one of the few college students that stuck to a curfew of sleeping before midnight.

“Can he sleep over?” he asks, just barely shaking his own boots off. “We, uh. Some things happened, and we both kind of fell asleep.”

It’s not really much of an explanation, but Tamara can wait for a better one tomorrow, and from both of them. So she nods and waves them off, watching with an amused smile as the two boys stagger back to Aaron’s room.

In another five minutes, when she’s found an extra pillow and covers for their guest, or Aaron, because she didn’t know who would be sleeping where, she knocks on his door. When no answers come, she waits only another minute before coming in.

What she finds makes her want to laugh.

God, they were such a mess.

Although she was sure Aaron didn’t plan it, the two boys were sleeping together across the bed, looking as if they just barely made it. It wasn’t cute at all; no accidental cuddling would come of it, she knows, because they were too haphazardly spread across the covers.

Aaron was absolutely aghast at the fact that her parents got them both queen size beds for their relatively small apartment when they first moved in, but it was one of the few things that her parents would not change their minds on. Now, Tamara thinks, he just might be thankful for it when the morning comes.

Still, she spreads the covers on them both.

No, Tamara wasn’t kind in a motherly or saintly way, but she was kind in her own way that people loved her for.

Which is why she takes several pictures of them for solid blackmail material in the future and happily waits to see their reaction in the morning.


End file.
